


fathers

by Artikka



Series: of mothers and fathers [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Character Study, Conversations, Cultural Differences, Gen, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Language Differences, Misunderstandings, Post-Mortis Arc, Supportive Obi-Wan Kenobi, a glimpse at Anakin's view on the prophecy vs Obi-wan's view on the prophecy, a very very low-key "implied", but like, he's trying his best, references to slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:40:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26223517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artikka/pseuds/Artikka
Summary: “I had no idea Huttese was so. . . nuanced.”Anakin looked sharply to the side, avoiding Obi-wan’s gaze and biting down on his cheek hard enough to draw blood. “. . . not Huttese,” he said, after a long moment of hesitation. “the slave language.”* * * *In the wake of Mortis, Obi-wan and Anakin have a conversation about the prophecy, the Chosen One, and fathers.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker
Series: of mothers and fathers [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1892530
Comments: 57
Kudos: 468





	fathers

**Author's Note:**

> in a world where "father" has more rigid and contradictory connotations in basic vs. the Tatooine slave's language
> 
> also, as much as I love eldritch-half-force-child!Anakin, this is not the case in this particular fic. love the idea though! there's definitely a lot to explore in that route too
> 
> also, this is MUCH less heavy then the first installement of the series so yeah :)

_“Is it true that he is the Chosen One?”_

_“The Chosen One is a myth.”_

* * * * *

What could one possibly say about Mortis?

It was certainly the strangest mission the Council had ever sent Obi-wan on, to say the least. He still had trouble wrapping his head around the whole ordeal, a full week later. To say nothing of the Council’s reaction to their explanation of the events.

“Three Force beings you encountered, you said?” Yoda had asked once he had finished summarizing. He had left out as much information about Ahsoka’s turn and death and Anakin’s turn as he could, but he could still see them flinch out of the corner of his eye when he glossed through those parts. “With impossible powers?”

“Yes, Master Yoda.”

“And these beings, killed, they were? All three?”

“Yes, Master Yoda.”

“The signal they sent out, to determine the truth of the prophecy of the Chosen One, you said it was?”

“Yes, Master Yoda.”

“Hm.” Yoda said conclusively, the rest of the council nodding along. “Hm.”

That discussion. . . certainly hadn’t been enlightening.

Hopefully this discussion with Anakin would be. 

The two of them were perched awkwardly in their corner of the ship’s quarters, Anakin fiddling with his prosthetic and Obi-wan mindlessly scrolling through his datapad. He wasn’t quite sure how to ask about this, to be honest. How does one ask their Padawan ( _former_ Padawan) about a galactic scale prophecy that puts _him_ in the front and center as the saviour?

Before Obi-wan could even begin to figure out how to approach the topic, Anakin spoke. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“What?” The word slipped out before Obi-wan had a chance to stop it.

“Mortis. I don’t want to talk about it, Obi-wan.”

He looked at Anakin. _Really_ looked at Anakin, and thought back to the last few days. The dark circles under his eyes. The way his eyes would flit back and forth at shadows. The way he glanced at Ahsoka every few seconds as if she’d shatter if he looked away too long. The way he kept rubbing at his forehead as if he _knew_ there were memories he was missing, as if he _knew_ Obi-wan was hiding something from him.

Well. Not wanting to talk about it was perfectly understandable. 

“I don’t. . . “ he started, then sighed. “Not Mortis, necessarily. Although I suppose it’s somewhat related.”

_Oh,_ Anakin mouthed and before Obi-wan could continue, “You want to talk about the prophecy.”

He allowed himself a second of surprise that Anakin could read him that well before remembering that _of course_ Anakin could read him that well. “Yes.”

“I take it you don’t?”

“Well, it’s not like there’s much to talk about.”

“There. . . isn’t?” That was certainly an interesting viewpoint. To Obi-wan, it seemed like the prophecy was one topic that could be talked about forever and still never be fully understood, but he imagined it would be different if all that pressure was on his _own_ shoulders.

“Please. Even the _idea_ of the prophecy is ridiculous. And _me?_ The ‘Chosen One’?” Anakin huffed. “The Chosen One is a myth.”

_Even after Mortis,_ Obi-wan thought wonderingly, _He still believes that even after Mortis._

“And why,” he said, rather slowly, “do you think that?”

“I have a better question for you, Master.” Anakin said, Obi-wan biting back his instinctive _you-don’t-have-to-call-me-that-anymore_ . “Why do you believe I _am_ the Chosen One?”

Anakin laughed, suddenly, but it was humorless, bitter and more than a bit self-deprecating.

“You think I’ll—” in what sounded like a mocking imitation of the Father’s voice, “— _bring balance to the galaxy_?”

“Well,” Obi-wan said—more like sighed. “you did technically bring balance to Mortis.”

“Oh, yeah, because that strategy would work just great for the rest of the galaxy. Just have me murder all the Jedi and all the Sith and tada! The galaxy is _technically_ balanced.”

Obi-wan sighed. “You know that would never happen, Anakin.”

“You never answered my question.” Anakin said again, seeming to find the inside of his prosthetic remarkably interesting all of a sudden. “Why do you believe I’m the ‘Chosen One’?”

“I don’t—” Obi-wan cut himself off. Did he?

He thought back to Anakin’s impossibly loud force presence, his prowess in battle, the sheer _power_ at his fingertips every time he drew on the force. And to Qui-gon’s words, almost two decades ago.

_“I would have thought it impossible, Obi-wan,” Qui-gon had said, “but the boy. . . has no father.”_

_Obi-wan had snorted. “You would have thought it impossible because it is impossible. Where in the galaxy did you get that notion?”_

_“The boy’s mother. She told me herself.”_

_“And you didn’t consider_ — _”_

_“I_ did _consider.” Qui-gon cut him off, “but she was telling the truth. I felt it.”_

_“But that’s_ — _” Impossible, Obi-wan nearly said again. Insane. Unprecedented. Ridiculous._

_He had shoved it to the back of his mind and generally tried to forget about it._

He groaned. At Anakin’s disbelieving gaze he said curtly, “Fine. Yes. I do believe you’re the Chosen One.”

“Why?” The tone was incredulous and _definitely_ self-deprecating this time. They would need to have a talk about that habit of Anakin’s at some point, but with the war it seemed like there was no time for any talks at all. The fact that they had snatched a minute for this one was nothing short of a miracle.

“You’re powerful, Anakin. Incredibly powerful.”

“That means nothing—”

“And your force presence has always been blinding. Even if that means nothing, Anakin, what of the events on Mortis? You tamed _both_ the Son and the Daughter at once. You made them _kneel_ to you. The Father himself said he thought you were the Chosen One.”

“Yeah, and we all saw what an honest person _he_ was.”

“Fine.” Obi-wan said, frustrated. “Ignoring _all of that_ , what about the fact that you have no father?”

He expected Anakin to stay silent for a long minute, trying to worm his way out of that one. But to his surprise, Anakin spoke immediately.

“Plenty of kids have no fathers.”

Obi-wan waited for a sardonic twist in Anakin’s eyebrows, a crooked uplifting of his lips, a drop in his tone, anything to indicate that he was falling back into his well-worn habits of sarcasm. It didn’t come.

“No,” Obi-wan finally spoke, a note of incredulity threading its way through his voice. “they don’t. Every child has a mother _and_ a father.” 

Anakin turned to look at him, scorn at the prophecy turning to something gentler and sadder. “Maybe in the Core they do. But most kids on Tatooine don’t have that luxury, Master.”

“I meant _biological_ father, Anakin.” Obi-wan said with a sigh. “Don’t be difficult.”

Anakin blinked at him. Once. Twice. Then, “You think I have no _biological_ father?”

Anakin opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “How the _hell_ did you come to that conclusion?”

Well. Now Obi-wan was certainly confused. “What exactly are you trying to say, Anakin?”

“I—of course I have a _biological_ father, Obi-wan, what do you take me for? I grew up in Mos Espa, it’s not like we had the opportunity to grow clones.”

What? “But your mother told Qui-gon you had no father. She was being truthful, he felt it. It was why he was so shocked afterwards.”

Something changed in Anakin’s expression. “Master,” he said, slipping back into old habits like he did whenever he was afraid to try and correct Obi-wan, “how much did Qui-gon know about. . . other people? Families?”

“As much as any Jedi, I imagine,” Obi-wan said, still waiting impatiently for answers.

“It’s. . . well.” Anakin muttered to himself and looked to the side, chewing on his lip. “Father, on Tatooine, doesn’t mean. . . biological father.”

Oh. _Oh._

_Oh._

That was. . . honestly a bit of an obvious answer to his dilemma. Why hadn’t it occurred to Obi-wan sooner? Or better yet, why hadn’t it occurred to Qui-gon?

“It means the father who raised you.” Anakin continued, voice soft and hesitant, “It’s the same for mothers. We have different words for biological parents.”

Something was buzzing at the back of his awareness, some crucial piece of the puzzle. “And what would you call your mother?”

“The first.” Anakin said, tone harsh, “The people who raise you are your real family, not the people who give birth to you.”

Because. . . _oh._

Again.

“Because they were often separated.” Obi-wan said, more to himself than anything.

Anakin glanced at him and closed his eyes as if bracing for something. “Yes.” he said. “Or because it wasn’t children that the biological father had in mind.”

Obi-wan had no idea what to say to that. He pushed aside a sharp spike of alarm for what exactly had led to Shmi’s pregnancy and tried to push the conversation along a different track, “I had no idea Huttese was so. . . nuanced.”

Anakin looked sharply to the side, avoiding Obi-wan’s gaze and biting down on his cheek hard enough to draw blood. “. . . not Huttese,” he said, after a long moment of hesitation. “the slave language.”

He laughed then, ugly and grating. “Do you still believe I’m the Chosen One, Master?”

_Now that you know what it really means to have no father?_

Obi-wan didn’t mean to catch the end of that thought from Anakin, but he caught it nevertheless.

_Don’t call me that,_ he thought.

Aloud, he said, “I’m not your Master.”

“I—yeah.” Anakin said, getting up and trying to hide his twitching, “yeah.”

“I need to—go,” he continued, making for the door, buzzing with nerves and energy and the need to _get-out-get-out,_ so strongly Obi-wan could feel it from across the room. “I—should check in. With Rex and the others.” 

He left, leaving the door swinging, not quite closed but not quite open, in his hurry to exit.

Obi-wan watched.

Alone.


End file.
